Okay, first the facts: millions of people around the world spend a fortune on knowing about their future. And what they spend is not just money but invaluable time when they read predictions of all kinds in a variety of media.
But do they get their money and time's worth when they rely on a motley bunch of people who know zilch about them? Palmists, numerologists, tarot readers, and others who use all sorts of animals from parrots to Pomeranians. Can there be some truth in what they churn out?
If you really ask me, horoscopes suck. Especially the daily horoscopes appearing in newspapers, magazines and websites. And they suck big time. Here's why.
If you look carefully, most predictions are vague and based on common sense. They could have come from anyone with half a brain. Sample this prophecy I picked from a popular website: “Your curiosity is running on high, and you just won’t stand for anything less than the entire truth, no matter what question you ask. Your antennae will tell you whether it’s an honest answer.”
Well, my antennae tell me that not many people would admit that they'll “stand for less than the entire truth.” Needless to say, such a cloudy bit of mumbo jumbo would put me off rather than bolster my confidence – and boosting their self-assurance is what many horoscope readers look for.
Here’s another specimen from the Sunday edition of a paper: “You suffer a great deal because of others’ wrongdoing. Maybe it’s time you stopped others from taking you for granted. Just be more assertive and you’ll find all the happiness you deserve.”
Wow! Reading these lines, our bleary-eyed reader is sure to scream with self-pitying joy: “I told you so. See, it’s all their fault!” The advice may not turn our feeble fella into a bold brat, but it can perhaps make them feel a bit over the top.
Again, I'm not sure of the usefulness of the proffered suggestion. Tell me honestly, who benefits from being over-emotional in this day and age?
Wait, there’s more stuff coming up. This one was buried inside an old stack of newspapers. And it caught my eye when I was looking for something else. (Isn’t that how you find anything these days?)
It goes like this: “Your stars are shining bright and mighty. Just the perfect time to make that critical move you have been waiting for all your life. Lucky numbers 1, 3 and 7; favorable colors Blue and Orange.”
Oh, really? You mean, if I wear a blue shirt to office today, I can tell my boss to take a walk? Or if I pick a lottery ticket with these three digits in it, I’ll become an instant millionaire? Aw, c'mon dude, stop kidding me. If it were that simple, we would all be enjoying pina coladas on a sunny beach doing nothing but reading horoscopes.
Now, tell me, do you still want to know what the stars say about you?
Showing posts with label humour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humour. Show all posts
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Going to the Wash Room? Be Warned!
I don’t know who said it, but I kind of agreed: India is a vast latrine. Everywhere you see across the nation, there are people relieving themselves in open spaces, on railway tracks, at the boundary walls of ill-lit bungalows, near drains on the roadside or just about anywhere they feel they must go.
Of late, however, there has been a shift in the way Indians, especially urban, well-to-do Indians, obey the call of nature when not at home. Thanks to a growing number of restaurants, malls, multiplexes and other concrete contraptions where you can now find toilets, people finally have alternatives to open spaces. In fact, sometimes, it seems too good to be true. Toilets in public places? For Indians?? Wow!!!
But when I look at how the toilets are constructed, and how they are maintained and serviced, the wow factor goes down the flush. Let me give you some examples.
There’s this restaurant I went to one of those weekends when you go to a restaurant to eat out. After a while, I felt the urge to pee and went in search of the rest room. Now, this was a fairly upmarket restaurant with upper-class clientele. But look at their toilet! Soon as I pushed open the door, the commode blocked it from opening fully. One way to get inside the toilet was to clamber onto the pot – there was no space around the pot – and shut the half-open door right back. But there were two dangers in doing so: one, I could be seen in this funny position; two, I could break a bone if I slipped. Neither option appealed to me. So what I did instead was slightly open the door just so to squeeze behind it beside the wall, and then close the door from this spy-like position. I did what I had to do and hurriedly maneuvered my way back out.
Why is it so hard to find a decent sized and utilitarian rest room when you are away from home in India?
Consider another wash room, this one at a spanking new mall. They had done up the toilet nicely, with starry floors and expensive-looking bath fittings – only, they didn’t know how to fit them. Take the faucet of the wash basin, for instance. The curvature of the faucet was so elongated that it jabbed into my face as I lowered it down for washing. “Why can’t they keep things simple if they don’t know how to do it?” I remember cursing under my breath while rubbing my bruised nose.
Another time, as I used the loo at a multiplex, I found that there was no waste bin kept for the toilet paper. Had the builders resigned themselves to the fact that most Indians don’t use the bins anyway and flush the toilet paper down the drain (often clogging it)? And the spray tap they did provide was indeed weird. Because when I pressed the tap, water came out with such formidable force that I nearly drenched myself in the squirt. By the time I trained myself to use the tap with considerable self-control, I was already looking like I had performed the miracle of getting wet in the rain inside an enclosed loo.
The rest rooms are supposed to be places where people can relieve themselves comfortably. What we normally get, alas, are ill-conceived pissing holes.
But part of the blame for the sorry state of affairs should go to the toilet users as well. We Indians don’t really know how to behave ourselves in public places, even if those places are as private as toilets. So maybe the builders and restaurant owners try to beat us at our own habits. I remember seeing this notice next to a soap dispenser in a restaurant toilet: 'Push once gently for enough soap.'
“What a cleverly contrived message,” I thought. In one go, it communicated to people about two of their nasty habits: of pounding too much on the push button and of making a mountain of soap on their palms. I have seen many soap-starved chappies collect more than their fair share of soap. Enough soap, in fact, to make do for a whole bath. Not that I ever saw anyone take a bath at the wash basin, but you never know what can happen in the world’s largest democracy! Anyway, I have witnessed far too many people supply themselves with ample soap – and then wash it off their face vigorously by spreading their personal wetness around. One of my most pressing thoughts at such moments: Get out fast.
One novelty that seems to have emerged as a result of toilet users’ nasty habits is the push-type water tap that spits out water for a split-second - often making you wonder if it was indeed water or a bolt of lightning that kissed your hands. You have to push the darned thing several times if you are really serious about achieving any washing. On second thoughts, it gives you an opportunity to exercise your muscles. But should you be doing so in the wash room? I doubt it. Useful tip: if you do not want to die of irritation at pushing the tap two hundred and forty three times, keep one hand constantly pressed on the tap and do your business with the other one.
Nothing beats the stupid infrared, however, when it comes to inducing irritability in the rest room. I’m sure most of you would’ve noticed infrared-activated flush systems installed in several places. The moment you walk close to the urinal (this one is for men specifically, and I don’t know how or if it works for women), the sensor gets activated in a hurry. Before you know it, water from the flush pipe, which is often funnily positioned and perforated, sprinkles onto your clothes in addition to spurting down the ceramic wall of the urinal. It looks as if the system is peeing at you before you get to pee into the system. This problem is so severe that very few automated flush systems ‘get it right’ – causing me to develop extreme anxiety each time I approach one.
It’s going to take a little while before I either become tolerant of toilets or there’s some sort of revolutionary change in the way toilet makers make toilets and the way people use them. Until then, going to the loo is certainly going to be a pee-vish thing. Hey, can you stop splashing it around, please!
Of late, however, there has been a shift in the way Indians, especially urban, well-to-do Indians, obey the call of nature when not at home. Thanks to a growing number of restaurants, malls, multiplexes and other concrete contraptions where you can now find toilets, people finally have alternatives to open spaces. In fact, sometimes, it seems too good to be true. Toilets in public places? For Indians?? Wow!!!
But when I look at how the toilets are constructed, and how they are maintained and serviced, the wow factor goes down the flush. Let me give you some examples.
There’s this restaurant I went to one of those weekends when you go to a restaurant to eat out. After a while, I felt the urge to pee and went in search of the rest room. Now, this was a fairly upmarket restaurant with upper-class clientele. But look at their toilet! Soon as I pushed open the door, the commode blocked it from opening fully. One way to get inside the toilet was to clamber onto the pot – there was no space around the pot – and shut the half-open door right back. But there were two dangers in doing so: one, I could be seen in this funny position; two, I could break a bone if I slipped. Neither option appealed to me. So what I did instead was slightly open the door just so to squeeze behind it beside the wall, and then close the door from this spy-like position. I did what I had to do and hurriedly maneuvered my way back out.
Why is it so hard to find a decent sized and utilitarian rest room when you are away from home in India?
Consider another wash room, this one at a spanking new mall. They had done up the toilet nicely, with starry floors and expensive-looking bath fittings – only, they didn’t know how to fit them. Take the faucet of the wash basin, for instance. The curvature of the faucet was so elongated that it jabbed into my face as I lowered it down for washing. “Why can’t they keep things simple if they don’t know how to do it?” I remember cursing under my breath while rubbing my bruised nose.
Another time, as I used the loo at a multiplex, I found that there was no waste bin kept for the toilet paper. Had the builders resigned themselves to the fact that most Indians don’t use the bins anyway and flush the toilet paper down the drain (often clogging it)? And the spray tap they did provide was indeed weird. Because when I pressed the tap, water came out with such formidable force that I nearly drenched myself in the squirt. By the time I trained myself to use the tap with considerable self-control, I was already looking like I had performed the miracle of getting wet in the rain inside an enclosed loo.
The rest rooms are supposed to be places where people can relieve themselves comfortably. What we normally get, alas, are ill-conceived pissing holes.
But part of the blame for the sorry state of affairs should go to the toilet users as well. We Indians don’t really know how to behave ourselves in public places, even if those places are as private as toilets. So maybe the builders and restaurant owners try to beat us at our own habits. I remember seeing this notice next to a soap dispenser in a restaurant toilet: 'Push once gently for enough soap.'
“What a cleverly contrived message,” I thought. In one go, it communicated to people about two of their nasty habits: of pounding too much on the push button and of making a mountain of soap on their palms. I have seen many soap-starved chappies collect more than their fair share of soap. Enough soap, in fact, to make do for a whole bath. Not that I ever saw anyone take a bath at the wash basin, but you never know what can happen in the world’s largest democracy! Anyway, I have witnessed far too many people supply themselves with ample soap – and then wash it off their face vigorously by spreading their personal wetness around. One of my most pressing thoughts at such moments: Get out fast.
One novelty that seems to have emerged as a result of toilet users’ nasty habits is the push-type water tap that spits out water for a split-second - often making you wonder if it was indeed water or a bolt of lightning that kissed your hands. You have to push the darned thing several times if you are really serious about achieving any washing. On second thoughts, it gives you an opportunity to exercise your muscles. But should you be doing so in the wash room? I doubt it. Useful tip: if you do not want to die of irritation at pushing the tap two hundred and forty three times, keep one hand constantly pressed on the tap and do your business with the other one.
Nothing beats the stupid infrared, however, when it comes to inducing irritability in the rest room. I’m sure most of you would’ve noticed infrared-activated flush systems installed in several places. The moment you walk close to the urinal (this one is for men specifically, and I don’t know how or if it works for women), the sensor gets activated in a hurry. Before you know it, water from the flush pipe, which is often funnily positioned and perforated, sprinkles onto your clothes in addition to spurting down the ceramic wall of the urinal. It looks as if the system is peeing at you before you get to pee into the system. This problem is so severe that very few automated flush systems ‘get it right’ – causing me to develop extreme anxiety each time I approach one.
It’s going to take a little while before I either become tolerant of toilets or there’s some sort of revolutionary change in the way toilet makers make toilets and the way people use them. Until then, going to the loo is certainly going to be a pee-vish thing. Hey, can you stop splashing it around, please!
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Hollow Scope
Why does the world go bonkers over vacuous fortune telling?
I used to think that writing horoscopes is serious business, what with millions around the world spending so much time and money on a varied bunch of fortune tellers – palmists, numerologists, tarot readers, and other folks who use all sorts of animals from parrots to Pomeranians. But sometime back, when I read through what some of the so-called celebrity star-gazers had written in their popular columns, I realized how mistaken I was. To my horror-scope, I found that too much ink had been spilt praising the non-existent virtues of people and telling them how great they are and how the times are set to change for the better and how, just by wearing a certain color or betting on a particular lucky number, they can beat the holy sh*t out of any possible stumbling block to a great fortune that awaits them round the corner. Blah, blah, blah…
Now, if I were a self-preening narcissistic type I might’ve approved of all their goody-goody, schmaltzy stuff. So instead, I felt rather compelled to take you, dear reader, through some of the really over-the-top gems of prognostication that I found. I bet you might end up, like me, rolling on the floor with laughter or pulling your hair out trying to make sense of the whole shebang.
Sample this prophecy from a reputed site: “Your curiosity is running on high, and you just won’t stand for anything less than the entire truth, no matter what question you happen to ask. Your antennae will tell you whether it’s an honest answer.”
Well, my antennae tell me that the person who wrote this is really smart enough to know that the best thing to keep people from pointing fingers at your predictions is to write something entirely vague or utterly common sense. Now, tell me, how many people will admit that they’ll “stand for less than the entire truth”? And, won’t our keen observation (antennae) tell us if we are getting an honest answer or not?
Here’s another one from the Sunday edition of a paper: “You suffer a great deal because of others’ wrongdoing. Maybe it’s time you stopped others from taking you for granted. Just be more assertive and you’ll find all the happiness you deserve.”
Wow! Reading these lines, our bleary-eyed reader is sure to scream with self-pitying joy: “I told you so! See, it’s all their fault!” Merely reading this may not turn our meek fella into a bold brat, but it sure will make the person feel quite worthy of all the happiness in the world he or she ain’t going to get anyway.
Wait, there’s more stuff coming up. This one was buried inside an old stack of newspapers but fortunately caught my eye when I was looking for something else (isn’t that how you find anything in the first place these days?).
Here it goes: “Your stars are shining bright and mighty. Just the perfect time to make that critical move you have been waiting for all your life. Lucky numbers 1, 3 and 7; favorable colors Blue and Orange.”
Oh, really? You mean, if I wear a blue shirt to office today, I can tell my boss to take a walk? Or if I pick a lottery ticket with these three digits in it, I’ll become an instant millionaire? Aw, com’on, you must be kidding me.
Never mind what I feel, there are millions out there who lap up the fortune tellers’ words with inexplicable zeal and sincerity.
All right, there be might be some – maybe one in a thousand – fortune tellers whose predictions aren’t as ridiculous or vague or inaccurate. But at least I haven’t found them--yet.
Why such mumbo jumbo continues to get so much attention often baffles me – and I can only hazard a guess. Maybe it’s simply because people like hearing nice things about themselves. Or maybe they are already so weary and burdened with their unspectacular lives that they’ll latch onto anything that keeps their hopes of a radical positive change alive.
How many people would still read their horoscopes if the lines they read did not go down well with them or did not portray them as superb human beings? For instance, would they continue their patronage of the forecast column if it says: “You have a really crappy day ahead today?” Or if it proclaims: “Whatever you do, you are going to get laid off from this thankless job of yours – so just stick on to it while you can, you schmuck.”?
Fat chance they would!
So the fortune farce keeps going.
And the world keeps getting sucked into the slush that a daily dose of divination delivers.
I used to think that writing horoscopes is serious business, what with millions around the world spending so much time and money on a varied bunch of fortune tellers – palmists, numerologists, tarot readers, and other folks who use all sorts of animals from parrots to Pomeranians. But sometime back, when I read through what some of the so-called celebrity star-gazers had written in their popular columns, I realized how mistaken I was. To my horror-scope, I found that too much ink had been spilt praising the non-existent virtues of people and telling them how great they are and how the times are set to change for the better and how, just by wearing a certain color or betting on a particular lucky number, they can beat the holy sh*t out of any possible stumbling block to a great fortune that awaits them round the corner. Blah, blah, blah…
Now, if I were a self-preening narcissistic type I might’ve approved of all their goody-goody, schmaltzy stuff. So instead, I felt rather compelled to take you, dear reader, through some of the really over-the-top gems of prognostication that I found. I bet you might end up, like me, rolling on the floor with laughter or pulling your hair out trying to make sense of the whole shebang.
Sample this prophecy from a reputed site: “Your curiosity is running on high, and you just won’t stand for anything less than the entire truth, no matter what question you happen to ask. Your antennae will tell you whether it’s an honest answer.”
Well, my antennae tell me that the person who wrote this is really smart enough to know that the best thing to keep people from pointing fingers at your predictions is to write something entirely vague or utterly common sense. Now, tell me, how many people will admit that they’ll “stand for less than the entire truth”? And, won’t our keen observation (antennae) tell us if we are getting an honest answer or not?
Here’s another one from the Sunday edition of a paper: “You suffer a great deal because of others’ wrongdoing. Maybe it’s time you stopped others from taking you for granted. Just be more assertive and you’ll find all the happiness you deserve.”
Wow! Reading these lines, our bleary-eyed reader is sure to scream with self-pitying joy: “I told you so! See, it’s all their fault!” Merely reading this may not turn our meek fella into a bold brat, but it sure will make the person feel quite worthy of all the happiness in the world he or she ain’t going to get anyway.
Wait, there’s more stuff coming up. This one was buried inside an old stack of newspapers but fortunately caught my eye when I was looking for something else (isn’t that how you find anything in the first place these days?).
Here it goes: “Your stars are shining bright and mighty. Just the perfect time to make that critical move you have been waiting for all your life. Lucky numbers 1, 3 and 7; favorable colors Blue and Orange.”
Oh, really? You mean, if I wear a blue shirt to office today, I can tell my boss to take a walk? Or if I pick a lottery ticket with these three digits in it, I’ll become an instant millionaire? Aw, com’on, you must be kidding me.
Never mind what I feel, there are millions out there who lap up the fortune tellers’ words with inexplicable zeal and sincerity.
All right, there be might be some – maybe one in a thousand – fortune tellers whose predictions aren’t as ridiculous or vague or inaccurate. But at least I haven’t found them--yet.
Why such mumbo jumbo continues to get so much attention often baffles me – and I can only hazard a guess. Maybe it’s simply because people like hearing nice things about themselves. Or maybe they are already so weary and burdened with their unspectacular lives that they’ll latch onto anything that keeps their hopes of a radical positive change alive.
How many people would still read their horoscopes if the lines they read did not go down well with them or did not portray them as superb human beings? For instance, would they continue their patronage of the forecast column if it says: “You have a really crappy day ahead today?” Or if it proclaims: “Whatever you do, you are going to get laid off from this thankless job of yours – so just stick on to it while you can, you schmuck.”?
Fat chance they would!
So the fortune farce keeps going.
And the world keeps getting sucked into the slush that a daily dose of divination delivers.
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